Lady of Silence
by fiesa
Summary: Jabba's barge explodes in an inferno fire of ashes and death, and Mara wakes up. Or: Three times Mara Jade dies, and one time she does not. Mara Jade (Luke Skywalker). Complete in four chapters.
1. storm

**Lady of Silences**

 _Summary: Jabba's barge explodes in an inferno fire of ashes and death, and Mara wakes up. Or: Three times Mara Jade dies, and one. Mara Jade (Luke Skywalker). Complete in four chapters._

 _Warning: Angst._

 _Set: Story-unrelated._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

 _Happy Easter Holidays! (2017)_

* * *

 _(swimming, drowning, sleeping, dying  
and really, what's the difference)_

 **Part 1 storm**

She made a mistake.

It is not at much her mistake as a miscalculation, really. Besides, nobody could have expected that among the dozens of Jabba the Hutt's stupid, corrupt servants there would be _one_ incorruptible one. And that he would be responsible for the female dance slaves, to boot.

"Please."

Mara is past the haughty glances she wore at first, past the seductive eye-batting. Here is a being that refuses to succumb to statistics, calculations, expectations and her compelling tone. It is not that she has not encountered those kinds of beings before: it is just that she has no time for exceptions-to-the-rules now.

"I am sick of the darkness. The stifling air… I can't breathe."

She knows how to act. She knows how to beg.

 _(Do not be afraid to lower your head, child. Remember: that way, your opponent cannot see his death mirrored in your eyes.)_

She can appeal to his heart. She can bend anyone to her will; it is what she has been taught. She is good at it; it is why she is still alive. She can seduce. She can barter. She can negotiate. She can convince: with arguments, with force, with pleas. She can kill. Mara Jade was brought up to be a killer. She is good at being one, too.

Unfortunately for her, Jabba's slave master is not only incorruptible but plays by the rules.

"I can give you some water," he says, his voice almost soft. "I can see to it that you do not have to dance tonight. But I cannot let you up on deck."

For a second, she contemplates killing him. She does not carry a weapon, but she does not need one. A well-aimed jab with the edge of her right hand, a punch to the nose driving its nasal bone deep into his brain. She could grab her own chains – decorative, but sturdy – and knock him out (strangle him). She could even use the Force. Her technique lacks finesse, but it gets the job done: she could stop the flow of air in his trachea, halt his two hearts simultaneously. Squeeze his brain until –

Something inside her freezes up. The part she hates, the part that refuses to disappear no matter how hard she tries to kill it off. _Lose the softness, child. It makes you weak._ And she has tried and tried and tried. But it is still there, and she is still there, and there are the many things that make the Emperor's Hand defective.

No matter how hard she tries, she never will be perfect.

"You are pale. You should lie down. I will bring you some water," the man says, concerned. He seems like a compassionate man, one of the kind one does not expect in places like this – with creatures like _these._ But she knows first impressions can deceive. Why would someone with a pure heart work for Jabba the Hutt – and as a slave overseer, too? Nevertheless, he seems kind enough, and Mara is not too far gone (honestly, she _is_ , but she can still see the world in all its painful shades) to discard the possibility of him doing this just because he is nice. Maybe he wants her to warm his bed. Maybe he is just concerned.

Mara learned, from early age, that it is not the universe that is cruel, but the beings inside it.

So she merely nods, silently, and moves back into the shadows of the room. It is filled with persons, full of whispers and choked laughter and sometimes a sob. Slave dancers dance because they have no other choice, but that does not mean that they do not accept their fate. There is no hope in the eyes of the people around her, but there also is the will to live. It penetrates every inch of the atmosphere, makes it hard to breathe. Many people in a room cause a sound: Mara dislikes the sound of this one. In fact, she dislikes the entire tapestry of sounds the desert of Tatooine paints: the full but run-down spaceport, the slave-rings she can see peeking from the collars of the threadbare robes here and there. The glaring sun and ever-present heat.

Silently, she sinks back into her corner and takes a deep breath, centers herself. She has a mission. She will see it through. She does not have to like this planet, but it is just one of many. She will leave it behind, soon. Twenty heartbeats, thirty. She can feel herself focus. Fifty. Silence fills her, familiar and soothing. The room fades into the background, still laser-sharp but not overwhelming. Mara's mind sinks into the detached state of calm that comes before action, and she relaxes.

 _Kill Luke Skywalker._

Mara did not ask the question but her Master must have read it in her mind: _Why_? Luke Skywalker is just a small fly, a bumbling farmer's son, a naïve boy trying to be a hero. But she already knew the answer. Skywalker, after destroying the Death Star and all the other things he had done, was one of the heroes of the Rebellion. He could no longer be ignored. But Mara also knew that there was more to it.

There still was the chance – however small it was – that Vader would be able to convince the rebellious son of his to join him, of them allying against the Emperor. Maybe her Master had seen the future, maybe he simply did not want to take risks.

Whatever the reason; Mara has her orders.

And, currently, she is failing. Stuck in a stifling chamber in the belly of the personal barge of Tatooine's most powerful crime lord, disguised as a slave dancer, she has no chance of getting onto deck where Jabba most likely is holding Skywalker and his rebel friends, not in time before Jabba executes him himself.

But Jabba _is_ going to execute Skywalker, is he not?

In a way, that would fulfill her orders, no matter who actually delivered the killing blow. The only trouble is: she will not be able to _see_ it. Mara is used to taking care of things herself. It is easier that way, minimizes the risk of mistakes. She trusts Jabba no farther than she can throw him, and telekinesis never was a strong point of hers.

"Could you braid my hair like you did the last time, Reina?"

Anjali is barely fifteen, or so she says. Mara knows the girl was sold into slavery to provide for her family, and she might have given the slave traffickers a wrong age to be sure to get taken. She has latched onto Mara since Mara stood up the head dancer on her first day, and has refused to let go ever since. Mara, reluctantly, has accepted her company; she is not sure whether she should not better push her away. After all, she will not stay there longer than necessary; while Anjali – _no._ Mara does not want to think about it.

 _(Oh, do not deceive yourself: not every slave wears chains, Emperor's Hand.)_

"Come here," she says, instead, and Anjali drops onto the floor in front of Mara and bounces almost cheerfully. Mara busies herself combing through the girl's soft hair with her hands – only the head dancer has combs, and she does not like Mara at all – and concentrates on the soft, almost imperceptible hum of the barge all around her.

Anjali is singing to herself, a soft melody that sounds like the wind dancing through a deserted village in the middle of a blood-red desert.

She does not only look like a thirteen- or fourteen-years-old girl. Everything in her screams it, screams it silently and desperately. Since she joined the dance slaves, Mara has learned a lot about the girl and has revealed less to nothing about herself. The girl does not mind, she probably would not mind if Mara sprouted warts and looked like a bantha. Anjali does not need her to talk: she just needs her to be there, and that suits Mara just fine. She prefers the silence, the calm. These kinds of sounds – people talking, the motor humming, the white-and-blue astromech's servos softly whirring as he offers her a tray with a glass of water; the overseer's promise kept. Mara takes the glass, drains it and busies herself with Anjali's strands of honey-colored hair again.

The sounds change abruptly.

The whining motors stutter to halt, the turbines' roaring whithers and dies. Jabba's barge shudders to halt. The slave dancers rush to the small port window, chattering excitedly. Mara stands and carefully shifts towards the door; rather the opposite direction everyone else is taking. Anjali follows her.

If they stopped, the spectacle – whatever Jabba has in mind for Skywalker and his fellow rebels – is about to take place.

The door is massive – no visible bolts, no key hole – but she strains her hearing and _listens._ A roar of approval as the guests shout and applaud. Then, again, silence as Jabba's rumbling voice resounds as he makes his announcement. Mara knows Skywalker has been sentenced to death but she did not know how. Now, as she listens, she realizes the Sarlacc is supposed to be fed. For a second, something within her twists in revulsion. To be digested for decades, fully conscious, only feeling the excruciating pain from the poison – that is a death she would not even wish on Skywalker. But then, it is his death she wants – and she is there to make sure it is seen through. Her jaw tenses. She needs to be up there, _watch_ , so she can make sure her mission is complete. Skywalker might be a dumb, lucky farm boy, but he has been trained in the ways of the Force. Jabba does not know that he is keeping a poisonous scorpion close to himself, that his prize will twist around to bite him and get to him if he is not careful enough. Mara has to make sure Luke Skywalker dies and can never betray the Emperor. _Vader_ can never betray the Emperor. Not like he betrayed _Mara_ –

The door unlocks with an almost inaudible _click._ Anjali grabs the veils of Mara's flimsy dancing costume.

"Are you leaving?"

Her eyes are huge, desperate. But also – resigned. Against her will, Mara cannot move. She thinks she could have dealt with anger, with tears, even with incomprehension and blame. But this – this silent acceptance of fate – is heartbreaking. Mara has seen so much – has killed people, for Force's sake. But this child breaks something within her. The words tumble from her lips, unwanted, unbidden. She regrets them the second she says them.

"I have to make sure of something," she says, as vague as possible. "I'll be back for you."

The girl's eyes are dull. There is nothing inside them, not even hope. It is like the light that has kept her alive for the past few days – a light that seemed to have been lit by Mara's presence – has extinguished completely.

"I promise." Mara grabs her hand, presses the tiny vibroblade into it which her associate had slipped her in Jabba's throne room. "Wait for me, okay? When I come back, we have to run."

She leaves without looking back, but she can still feel the girl's dull gaze in her back.

Mara never was skilled with the Force. She commanded it, but did so only rudimentarily. Working with it felt like trying to grasp water; it would elude her, again and again and no matter how hard she tried to cup her fingers without losing any. But now, it is enough to soften her steps and the soft chiming of her ridiculous dancing costume, and to turn away anyone's' unwanted attention. She knows how to slip under the radar, but it is something else entirely if one is wearing something _like this._

The crowd roars, again.

Carefully, Mara climbs the last stairs to the sun deck. She can already hear the dull murmur of the people; then; a voice. _Skywalker._ The urgency increases.

"Jabba, this is your last chance!"

And then she rounds the gallery and sees him: Luke Skywalker. Bound, his hands behind his back, his back ramrod straight. He is wearing a black tunica; against the desert, it looks ridiculously dark. But his hair is a halo of gold; his eyes a piercing blue. His gaze never wavers from his adversary. For a second, something flashes through her – he, at least, he is going to his death with his head held high – and then Jabba laughs. It is an ugly sound, raspy and breathy and rattling. And then he orders his henchmen to drop Mara's opponent into the Sarlacc Pit, and _everything goes to hell._

She pushes.

Mara _pushes_ at the plank, desperately willing it to move, to budge, to make Skywalker stumble and fall to his death. She is too weak, or perhaps he is too strong. She is too far away. Skywalker whistles and takes a step forward and _falls_. And then he grabs the edge of the plank, catapults himself upwards into a spin and lands in one of the smaller, accompanying barges. And Mara hears a faintly familiar, whirring noise – _blue-and-white astromech_ – and sees something arch through the air, glinting like a beacon in the desert sunlight. She expands her senses, forces herself to reach out, to grasp, _forces_ herself, _reaches_ – But the lightsaber lands squarely in Skywalker's hands.

With a few slashes of his weapon, the Wookie's shackles fall away.

The Wookie sets to freeing the smuggler. Jabba groans, once, long, and when Mara finally gives up, drenched in sweat, and turns around, she can see his face is turning blue. At the end of her shackles, Former Senator Leia Organa is strangling the huge, fat creature with all her might, her face contorted with hate. For a second, Mara feels agreement pulse through her; Jabba does not deserve any better. Then she remembers something else – _Skywalker._ The Jedi – because there is no doubt that he is one, now, Mara has seen her Master fight and she sees Skywalker. She has neither the knowledge nor the experience to judge his form, but – he is definitely holding his ground.

And suddenly she knows he is not going to die today.

Jabba's henchmen have no experience when it comes to stopping a Jedi. He goes through them like a Jawa through cardboard houses. Most of the lackeys are already down – of course down, not dead, curse this Jedi Codex – and Princess Organa is running towards the gallery, and the Wookie has gained control over one of the accompanying, smaller barges. Boba Fett was the first to go which speaks of at least a certain amount of rationality inside that brain of Skywalker's, because with that there is no opponent left who poses an actual threat to him.

He saltoes from one speeder to the next, taking out opponents left and right. There is beauty in his movements – speed, agility, and a certain self-confidence she would not have associated with a farm boy from this trice-forsaken desert planet. But any unbiased observer can see that he has learned, has grown.

Mara, for sure, is not one. That aside, she knows a speeder wreck when she sees it.

(The next one is going to collide with the barge-)

Her teeth grind together. Everything in her screams to run at him, somehow, _somehow,_ there will be a way, there _has_ to be a way to wipe this serene expression of calm right off his face-

Without a second look back she turns around and sprints back the way she came, down the stairs, through the corridor, without caring for anyone who might see her. The barge lurches like a drunk bantha as the first accompanying speeder capsizes and rams the barge. The explosion is muffled through the hammering sound of Mara's heart beat in her ears.

 _Did you ever fail me, my beautiful child?_

The door to the dance slave's quarter is still open, nobody noticed, nobody tried to leave. The women are huddled together like scared birds.

"Anjali!"

The head dancer lifts her eyes as Mara rushes through the door, the terrified look in her eyes making her suddenly seem younger than the scowl of hate she wore before.

"Where's Anjali?"

Nobody answers.

"What are you doing?" Someone grabs her from behind and Mara almost lashes out, then recognizes her associate's voice. "We need to go."

"Just one moment," Mara says, ignoring him. "There's someone…"

"The machine room is on fire. This place is going to blow in a minute!"

 _I am coming back for you._

For an instant – an eternity – Mara stands frozen.

"We need to go!"

The voice in her ears is urgent. Mara has no illusions: she is there to kill Luke Skywalker, and the man behind her, with his face almost completely hidden in the shadows of his large hat, is there to bring her back. Because if she fails – and she failed, failed, _failed_ – he is there to make sure she comes back to account for her mistakes.

Another explosion, and Mara thinks – maybe the first reactor blowing – she casts her senses out and feels the fight going on above her, a bright light right in the middle of it, and – _you failed._ And maybe that is why she longs so badly to keep her promise: she has never failed her Master before. But she cannot. She has no time, no means, cannot expect to do anything now than – than.

When she whirls around her associate is already moving, they dart through the corridor, across the shifting and lurching floor, past screeching metal and screaming beings and rooms filling with choking smoke.

They jump into the small speeder, her associate cursing for breathless seconds as the motor refuses to start up. And then they shoot past the hangar doors, free, and in the general chaos and confusion nobody even takes note of them.

 _Mara!_

Chestnut hair, blue eyes, wide and filled with fear-

Jabba's barge explodes in a shower of ashes and death.


	2. night

**Part 2** **night**

Callista is sweet.

It might not be her original body she is wearing (oh, the entire Academy knows her story, the Heroic Deeds of Luke Skywalker and Callista Ming) but that does not change the way it seems to suit her: small, slender, almost fragile. Wide-eyed, shy – like she cannot hurt a fly, and that, most likely, is the truth. And yet, there is the hint of a core made of steel, undeniably, strength gently tempered by kindness, unlike Mara's. She can fight, but she can smile, too. Callista looks like the kind of girl – _woman_ – anyone would like. Anyone, except Mara.

"I do not know why I'm telling you this. I am sorry."

There is no answer to that semi-question, so Mara remains silent. Of course, Callista is not stupid. She knows Mara has never really warmed up to her – she sure can sense it, since she is Force-sensitive, as well – but perhaps she also intuitively _feels_ Mara's dislike.

"Maybe it is because I know you would not lie to me."

Silence, silence. Because Mara does not lie, but some things do not have to be said, either. The Hall of Fountains whispers with the absence of life, the nightly calm that is only interrupted by the soft twinkling of water. Mara loves the peaceful atmosphere, the calming, soft darkness that descends at night. She has not expected to have to share it with anyone, least of all with Callista.

"You know, when I regained my Force abilities, I thought I could come back here and Luke and I… We could start off where we had been before I left."

Callista… She is beautiful. Maybe Mara resents her for that. Maybe… Maybe they are just too different to get along.

"Mirax told me you and Skywalker knew each other." Mara knows she sounds stilted, and too-formal. She hates it. Keeping up conversations is not something she enjoys doing, especially not with people she does not like. But this… She _owes_ it to him to at least _try._ After everything he did for her – not killing her, for instance, for helping her and Karrde and accepting her and teaching her and being nice to her, even though Mara never did anything to be nice, in return – the least she can do is help him by listening to his girlfriend.

Even if said girlfriend is Force-forsaken annoying.

Callista smiles – _she's blonde inside and out_ , Solo had said, but Mara thinks that is not true. Callista is quite intelligent. She has just learned to hide it in order to make people underestimate her. She wears her beauty like Mara wears all the masks she ever learned to create, and it makes her more real than anything Mara ever was.

"He saved me."

The small, quiet tone of her voice goes straight through her. Because – and no matter how much she dislikes it, and no matter how much she loathes to think of it – that is exactly what Luke Skywalker did for her, as well.

"Skywalker likes saving people." She says is brusquely, but Callista is not brushed off easily.

(Leia said something like that. Leia also said that her brother really, really loved Callista, and that everyone was glad she had come back. Then she looked at Mara, and shrugged, and Mara understood: Leia wanted her brother to be happy, but she did not especially like Callista, either. And when has it happened that Leia Organa Solo became one of Mara's closest – well, friends, she guesses. When?)

"He does. It's why I fell in love with him in the first place. He always tries to help others."

"Hn."

"I love him, you know? I had to leave him in order to search for my connection with the Force. Without it, it would have been impossible for me to stand at his side. And now… Now I have it back. I know we cannot get back what we had, but… I want to live my life with him. I want to build a future with him, be with him. When we parted, I told him I was not coming back if I couldn't regain my Force abilities. We couldn't have been together that way, he would have worried constantly, would have felt like he needed to protect me day and night. But now, I can protect myself again. I can be at his side without holding him back. Do you think we have a chance?"

Actually, truly and honestly?

Mara thinks yes, you stand every chance. _Kriff, woman, just walk up to him and tell him what you told me, and he'll melt like Hoth's ice on Tatooine. That guy's a kriffin' romantic._

"Yes," she says. "Just tell him what you told me. He will listen for sure."

Brown eyes, bright with joy and hope, and Mara hates herself more than anything that second.

"Thank you, Mara. I am glad I talked to you. You know, I know you don't like me much, but maybe, someday, we could be friends? After we've gotten to know each other a bit better? Because I like you, Mara. You're a good person."

 _A good person?_ _That's a first._

(Or, it is not, actually. Skywalker said something similar, and Mara -)

Does Callista know how she and Skywalker met? If she knew, would she still be trying to become friends with Mara? Somehow, she is not so sure. She manages a smile, a terse nod, nevertheless. "Yes."

What is it she is allowing for? It does not matter. Callista throws her arms around her and hugs her, quickly, then makes her excuses and jumps up, almost runs from the room. Mara can actually _feel_ her calling out to Skywalker, can _feel_ him reaching back, astonished and a tad worried. His worry turns to something different as he _understands_ , and Mara withdraws, desperately, shuddering with the after-effect of the emotions that are not hers.

A voice rises in the utter silence within her, one she has not heard in a long, long time. She tamps down on it, crushes it ruthlessly, and yet its sound lingers.

 _Oh, child, do not lie to yourself. It does not suit you. You were born and bred in darkness; there is no other way for you._

She locks herself in one of the training rooms and runs through sparring techniques and lightsaber training katas until she collapses, and even then, the urge to jump into the _Fire_ and just disappear has not abated the least. The only thing that stops her from just leaving is the fact that she promised Karrde, this time, promised to stay until she could control her Force abilities to a degree that would stop her from having nightmares and unwanted visions. Until she would stop from blowing up a shield generator accidentally because she was having a nightmare-

Yeah, well.

If this is not one, she does not know what it is.

* * *

The cafeteria of the Jedi Academy is surprisingly good.

One of the perks, she guesses, of staying: keep the people well-fed, and you keep them happy. It is one of the loudest places of the entire academy, as well, with people talking, laughing, discussing. There is a bunch of kids sitting in the far corner, as far from the table that is reserved for the few Masters as possible. Another table holds some Jedi Knights, and, another one, all of Skywalker's friends. Mara glances at them and decides to just pick up something small and eat outside, all by herself, because she is no coward but she needs a bit of calm after a mostly sleepless night. Preparing her excuse in case anyone might want to talk to her, she grabs a tray and a dish, a bottle of juice, a bread roll, and-

"Mara! Over here!"

It is, of course, Callista calling out to her. She sits at the far right table, close to the large windows looking out over the jungle of Yavin Four, and the midday sun seems to cast a halo around her blonde hair just for her. The remaining Jedi at the table turn to look at her, as well. The group is always the same, Cilghal, Corran, Kam and Tionne, was the same even before Callista returned. But she fit in perfectly from the first moment, has slid into the group without causing any waves, and the group has closed around her seamlessly. In the short intervals that she stayed at the Academy before, Mara has sat with them, as well, but she never tried to really fit in. She has always known she would be leaving again soon, or maybe it was just that she did not want anyone close to her. But she gets along with most of the Jedi there, honestly _._ She likes Corran and Cilghal most, because the Mon Calamari healer is kind and honest and never tries to force anything or anyone on her. And Corran is fun being around, and a good sparring partner. Around Callista, though, they feel different. Not unwelcoming, just… _different._ She cannot pinpoint how or why exactly. She is tempted to think that they _(of course)_ would like Callista more than her, open, kind, gentle Callista, even though she knows that this is not it. There is no complete truth, after all, and they probably like her, as well. Just… differently. _Your own fault,_ Mara thinks, _if you never try getting close to anyone._

Of course, when she reaches the end of that particular thread of thought, it is too late to retreat without seeming impolite. And Mara knows her reputation – she is tempted to just leave – but Callista smiles disarmingly, and Corran and Cilghal beckon her to join them. So she slides onto the bench next to Tionne, arranges the food on her tray, starts eating and tries hard to take part in the conversation.

Only that is easier said than done.

"…And then he said, what are you doing here? And at the same time, the generator blew!"

Everyone laughs. Even Cilghal, with whose non-human expression it is hard to pinpoint what she is feeling, looks like she is smiling.

"Yeah, the whole Academy was run by backup generators and candles for one week…"

Mara listens, politely, but it feels like she is worlds apart from the conversation. They are reminescencing, remembering past events they all experienced together and Mara has no part of. It feels like she is not a member of the Academy – but she is not, is she? – but she is. It is irrational, it makes her angry, and sad, and wanting to run. But she has run so often in her life. She wishes she could just sit there with them, be a part of them, laugh about the same things, rant about the same things. But she will forever stand apart. By choice or not by choice, there is too much that differentiates her from those people, too much -

She knows he is there even before she can see him.

"Luke! Over here!"

Corran moves aside to let Luke Skywalker slide his laden tray unto the table, and the head of the Jedi Academy drops onto the bench to sit next to Callista. She greets him with a kiss which he answers, just for a second. Everyone pretends not to see it.

Skywalker smiles at everyone at the table, fitting in as effortlessly as Callista does.

"I am starving. I can't remember the last time I had a warm meal." He stops, fork and knife already poised, and sighs. "I forgot –"

"Here," Callista interrupts him, and the pitcher of salad dressing floats over from where it stood at the counter, drips exactly two spoons worth of dressing onto Skywalker's salad and floats back again without ever losing a single droplet.

Kam shakes his head in mock-sorrow. "A splendid display of telekinetic control, and of how trivial the things are the great Jedi use the Force for."

Skywalker frowns. "I could have gotten it -"

"Sorry," Callista says, laughing, and her smile wipes away his frown effortlessly. "I just wanted to spare you the walk. I'll not use the Force too easily, I promise."

"I wish I could use telekinesis as well as you do," Corran comments, and Tionne adds, "I remember this one student, he once tried…"

They fall back into the conversation again. Maybe they are used to her, or they are so used to her not being there that they do not register her silence anymore. Cilghal is the only one who smiles at her, well, or gives her what passes as a smile on Mon Calamari, and it… it is good, knowing that she has at least one friend.

And Mara catches herself watching Callista, watches her watching Skywalker and laughing with him and all the others, and _you are holding in your hand so easily what I have been trying to achieve my whole life –_ She shuts down the train of thought as fast as it comes, but she never is fast enough.

 _Answers, child, are not always what we wish for most._

* * *

She should be dead tired, having spent the past night training and the day training even more in order to forget the scene from lunch time. But she is wide awake, unable to fall asleep despite the exhaustion burrowing in her bones and in her mind like lead. When she cannot lay in her bed anymore she moves to the window of her small room and stares outside, barely seeing anything through her aching eyes.

And when Mara finally falls asleep that night, she dreams.

It is the same dream she had before, many, oh-so-many times. She is standing on deck of a speeder, looking back at Jabba's barge, knowing that the end is about to happen. Only this time, Skywalker is still there, clearly visible, and while the foreshadowing of the end shoots through her like a death sentence he leans down and kisses her. Callista wraps her arms around him until they merge into one person, until it is impossible to distinguish the two forms from each other, and they are beautiful, a dark shadow against Tatooine's golden background and violet sky. And then they are gone.

Jabba's barge explodes in an inferno fire of ashes and death, and Mara wakes up.


	3. dawn

**Part 3 dawn**

His touch ghosts past her cheek; the same way he touched her so many times before.

Luke loves her hair. He loves to play with it, always tucking the unruly strands back behind her ear when they have fallen out of her braid after a day of work or when they come loose during a sparring session. Sometimes, his touch is almost like an afterthought; a gesture so familiar to both of them neither consciously notices: him tucking back a strand of hair, her feeling the soft touch of his hands on her cheek. So natural Mara never realized how much it had become a part of her until this moment.

 _Sorry, Mara. Can't make it back._

There is a world of unsaid things attached to the words, layers of layers of meaning. Almost-humor, a tentative note of wistfulness. Apology. And love, so much love it blinds her. Overwhelming, unconditional love so much like _Luke_ that she reaches out reflexively, stretches past the walls of the conference room, past the walls of the Academy, across Ossus' atmosphere and out into space. Her Force presence bridges seconds, hours and lightyears between herself and the one person who took her heart with him, one day so far away in the past. The only person she would have given it, and the only person who accepted her with the same unconditional love she can still feel today in each one of his glances, every single one of his touches. In every single word he breathes for her she can feel herself being reflected: not the way she sees herself, but the way Luke sees her, and it is breathtaking, again and again. She reaches out to feel him, to answer his touch in the Force, and the place that was her home for all those past years -

It is empty.

There is nothing there anymore. No warmth, no familiarity. No hope, no light, no breath or heartbeat; not even the tentative brush of his fingertips on her cheek. There is nothing left.

 _LUKE!_

There were people in the room with her a few seconds ago. They are still there, rising in alarm, maybe they felt something; she doubts it. A hand grabs her shoulder, shakes her, hard. Mara does not care as she grasps into the emptiness again and again, desperately trying to find even the smallest trace of her husband.

"Mara, come back, he's gone, Mara, please-"

Leia sounds like she is crying. It would break her heart, only that she is pretty sure she has none anymore. And _how dare you!_ , Leia was the one who never stopped believing Jacen was still alive when he was taken hostage by the Yuuzhan Vong, Leia never believed her son had died. And all the times Han disappeared… Leia had, each time, flat-out _refused_ the mere notion of him having died because she knew it could not be, because she knew he was somewhere out there and would make his way back to her. The same way Mara refuses to believe that Luke Skywalker is dead, refuses to acknowledge the emptiness within her. Refuses, refuses, _refuses_ the possibility of a life without him.

"Mara!"

 _Don't you dare leave me, Skywalker, I swear I will haunt you forever, Farmboy, don't go, please, Luke, I can't –_

"Get Cilghal _now!"_

"She's not responding, stang, Mara, can you hear me? Mara!"

"Back off, all of you, where's Cilghal? And get Ben here, quickly!"

Leia.

Leia always knows what to do. Leia is capable, clever, amazing, Leia is, like, a different version of Luke that inherited all the organizational and diplomatic talent Luke Skywalker had to teach himself, slowly and painfully, over the entire time of his life. And yet, despite the differences, despite everything Mara knows her husband lacked and her sister-in-law has, despite every law of nature, the sound of her voice is like hot acid on Mara's skin. Her Force presence, so much like Luke's, wraps around Mara like a blanket. Only that it is stifling and burning, suffocating her, and Mara would lash out if she had even one ounce of strength left. As it is, she is pumping everything into upholding the mental link that is tethering at the edge of the abyss.

 _Skywalker, curse you, this is not a moment for jokes-_

"Mom."

She never realized how much Ben feels like his father, too. So different, and yet similar.

"Mom, come back. He's gone. Please, Mom. You wouldn't want _me_ to do this, would you?"

Of course she does not want Ben to follow Luke _(follow her)_ out there. But she cannot abandon her search. The black velvet of the universe feels like coarse grains of salt under her desperate touch, like bits and pieces of a puzzle set together all wrong. Wrong colors, wrong shapes, like the world is bent and out-of-tune. There is something missing, something tiny, barely the size of her fist, but to Mara it is the most precious thing in the world and she cannot accept the fact that it is supposed to be gone forever.

Something invades her, a Force presence; Ben. Soft and determined and strong and suffused with sadness so thoroughly she can almost loses her concentration; almost lets go -

 _Come back. Dad wouldn't want this, Mom._

But Mara cannot give up. There is only a thin, thin thread still connecting her to her own body, so fragile it is about to break if she stretches out just a little bit further. But Leia's and Ben's Force presences wrap around that thread, reinforce it, familiar and soothing even in their shared pain. Something flows into her, strength, Cilghal's steady presence making itself known. They anchor her, draw her back from the edge on which she is tethering, gently but forcefully reeling her back in. Mara struggles against them, desperately, _furious_ , they are distracting her, are holding her back when Luke is moving farther and farther out of her reach with every second that passes.

She _cannot_.

She cannot give up. She gave up on herself too many times, too often in her past has she simply backed off and resigned. Luke was the only thing that refused to be pushed away; the only one. He never gave up on her, not even when she fought him tooth and claw and hurt them both more than anything. And Mara refuses to give up on him now, she cannot, there is no way she can simply surrender. It is what makes her keep fighting against the gentle embrace they are trying to draw her into. It cannot be. Luke cannot be gone. It would mean she is alone again –

Just a little bit more.

Just some more time, just a tiny bit farther into the darkness. She can _almost_ see the horizon, a gentle, golden glow behind the edge of darkness. The promise of light. Luke must be there - of course he is, he promised to always wait for her, after all -

 _MomMaraMasterSmugglergirlAuntFriendPlease_

But the voices just keep calling for her, growing stronger and harder to ignore as more and more minds join the meld. All of them familiar, in more ways than one, all of them suffused with the same sadness but also with _acceptance._

 _NO!_

Ben's presence wraps around her, stronger than before, not a gentle embrace anymore but a vice, chaining her. _Dad would not want you to follow him like that, Mom._ He throws a memory at her, it slams into her with the force of an enraged rancor: _Luke_. Luke, his eyes gleaming in anger, his entire body a stiff scream of fury – and yet, his voice carefully level. _You wanted to protect them. That is admirable. It is unacceptable, however, that you completely disregarded your own safety. Think before you jump, Ben, for Force's sake! What good is a dead hero to the universe?_ Luke, who never got angry. Luke, whose first concern always was for the people he loved. Luke, who…

 _He wouldn't want you to follow him like that, Mom._

Luke, who would have given his life to protect her.

 _Luke._

She cannot give up. She cannot stop searching for him, cannot accept the fact that he is gone. She cannot just draw back and take it as a fact: that he is gone, that he will never, ever come back again. That she is alone, again. Yes, she has Leia and Han and Jaina, Jacen and Anakin, she has Ben, her beloved son, the closest thing there ever will be to a Luke Skywalker. But neither one of them, as much as she loves them, is Luke: her husband, her partner, her soulmate. Her _heart._ She cannot give up.

Mara gives in instead: merciful darkness catches her as she collapses.

 _I want to die. Please, let me die with you, Luke._


	4. sunset

**Part 4 sunset**

 _Mara_.

She surfaces from sleep, slowly.

She is warm, and comfortable, and a sweet exhaustion still tugs at her despite the rest. But something is calling her, softly; coaxing, making her rise from the depths of her unremembered dreams.

"Mara. Hey, Mara."

She ignores it, hoping for the nuisance to take the hint and disappear. But the voice is insistent.

"Wake up. Come on, Mara!"

Mara groans and buries her face in the pillows. "Skywalker. Let me sleep."

A note enters his voice that is definitely too cheerful, and therefore too suspicious for her to ignore. Even for ever-cheerful Luke Skywalker, that sound is stretching it.

"Breakfast's ready. We even have blue milk! But if you don't want to join me I am going to have all the Jawa cakes for myself as long as they're still hot…"

Sighing, Mara blinks, opens her eyes – and looks directly into the familiar face of her husband-of-one-night.

 _We are married._

And despite everything, she cannot help it. She just stares, unmoving, suddenly wide awake and completely overwhelmed: his grey-blue-grey eyes are sparkling, the light from the windows shines on his hair and Mara _knows him._ The lines of his face are so familiar, _beloved_ – he does not seem any different to her, except _that he is._ Or she is. Or both of them are? She has not realized she has lifted her hand but when Luke's eyes darken and flutter shut she suddenly can _feel_ his skin under her finger tips. She traces the curve of his cheek bones, the lines at the corner of his eyes.

" _Mara-"_

 _"_ Shhhh," she whispers, touches his lips with her thumb.

He falls onto her lips with bruising force.

Her body remembers him. It is not like last night was the first time for her, or even for the two of them. And yet, this feels different. Last night was slow, soft and careful, like getting to know each other again after a long separation. Their kisses are almost forceful now, breaking apart something and, at the same time, forging it new: tempering it in fire, giving new meaning to something familiar. Shattering her into a million tiny, sharp-edged pieces and then rebuilding her, bit by bit, until the only thing she can see and hear and taste and feel is him.

It is a silence of a different sort, so different than all the silences she has experienced before in her life, and it hurts her and exhilarates her and washes away all the hollow memories of lives she led before without leaving her empty.

"Now the caf is cold," Luke whispers, his forehead pressed to hers, after what feels like an eternity and a heartbeat. He chuckles and the sound reverberates through her entire body. "Not that I care, so good riddance."

No. The caf is for her, he makes it for her alone because Luke Skywalker, at heart, is a farm boy who does not like the bitter taste of caffeinated beverages. Mara, on the other hand: she likes the bitterness, the _reminder_. But right now, she is neither hungry nor thirsty, either.

"Say something," Luke says, hovering above her, his hair falling into his eyes. Mara looks at him, looks and looks and swallows, but there are no words to express what she feels for him. And he just smiles, brilliantly and a little bit painfully, too, like he knows all the unsaid things stuck in her heart. He _knows._ Mara knows he does. It is always him who says it but he does not mind, because she might not say the words out loud but he can read feel them reverberate through her entire being. She was afraid he would not understand, once upon a time, and he followed her and showed her that he understood: body, soul and heart.

"I love you, Mara."

His warmth makes her glow. For a backwater desert planet moisture farm boy he wields his words pretty well; maybe some of Leia's diplomacy has rubbed off on him. Maybe it is just that he fills her silence with something she never had believed would exist. Why only he can do it, why it _has to be him_ when there are so many other people in the universe, she has no idea. What makes him so special? What would have happened had she not met him, or had she, even worse, killed him by the Emperor's orders? Would she have withered away, lonely and filled with hate for him and anyone else? Would she have turned to the Dark Side? Would she ever have learned to trust in other beings again? Oh, but in the end, none of it matters. She is here, and so is he. Luke is the song to her silence, the calm after the storm, and she loves him more than the winds carrying the scent of rain across the desert.

Instead of words, she sends him memories.

Lying on cold stone floor, pain pulsating in her burned shoulder. The Quom Jha's annoyingly diffuse voices in her ear and her mind, and her angry thoughts: whoever the guys inside this fort are, they _shot her!_ Skywalker's Force presence around her trembles like he is laughing _(at her)_ and at any other given time she would have snapped at him, _out of my head, Skywalker!_ , but the pain is getting worse and she needs every ounce of concentration to keep it at bay. Skywalker's presence around her shifts and suddenly the pain slips away, bit by bit, until the only thing she feels is calm. "Sleep, Mara," he tells her, and his voice is soft. The unconsciousness brought onto her by the Jedi healing trance is creeping in at the edges of her vision so she tries to focus on his features, on his blue-grey-blue eyes. His smile is the same as ever, and -

 _you came for me_

Fighting through a host of battle droids, deep underneath a forgotten fort, feeling the Force bolster her lungs and her muscles and her concentration. The black tunnel of the battle meld, _one misstep and both of you are dead,_ she has never experienced something like this and it should terrify her. But strangely, she never was less afraid. Maybe that is because of Skywalker's steady, familiar presence next to her, the warmth of his back on hers. The way both their minds mix, merge into each other until there is no Mara and Luke but only _LukeMara_ , _MaraLuke_ , one entity that feels and thinks and fights. And there, in the midst of their combined presences, she glimpses something she never would have expected; something she can barely believe. Luke, of course, realizes and reacts, almost guiltily trying to hide what she has already seen. They do not have time for this; they are fighting for their lives. Still, Mara cannot help it: the sudden flash of joy, the unexpected sensation that lights up her entire being, and -

 _you love me_

The sudden revelation that wipes away the memory of so many lost nights, so many dark hours. His proposal, so hilariously clumsy, so precious. So ill-timed, too, when both of them are sopping wet and about to drown in an underwater cavern below a forgotten fort on an unchartered planet. And yet she cannot remember a moment when she was happier than then, right there, with Luke's hand on her cheek and his cold lips kissing her as if she was oxygen and he _needed her to breathe_ , and Mara finds herself kissing him back with all the memories of years lost -

 _i promise i will never leave you_

Their wedding. Their honeymoon, including the trip to the Unknown Regions. Days and nights spent together and sometimes apart, and somehow Mara forgets how it is to be alone. She never realized she could feel lonely until she met Luke Skywalker; now she is sharing her heart and her mind with him and it should be too much, too fast. Overwhelming. But, contrarily to everything she ever expected, she does not mind the least. It is like she has suddenly found the missing puzzle piece to her existence; she cannot imagine ever living without it again. She is gifted a family in the space of heartbeats: Leia and Han and the Solo kids, so precious and beautiful and smart; _JainaJacenAnakin._ And, then, Ben. Her little boy, her beautiful son. Every time she wakes up from a far-too-short night and sees Luke cradling _their child_ , whispering stories to him or humming lullabies, something in her chest constricts almost violently. It stays with her while Jacen, Jaina and Anakin grow from babies to children to teenagers, so bright, so wonderful. It stays with her while Ben grows up, the perfect blend between Luke and her. She looks at him and can see herself and Luke as children, lost and loved and searching. It always hurts, but it never is a desperate pain anymore.

 _i love you more than desert nights_

It stays with her when Luke dies and Han and Leia begin traveling the galaxy together, when Jacen and Jaina leave to build their own families and Anakin takes more and more responsibility at the Temple. The memories are vivid and alive as Ben marries, the silence-that-is-not-silence-anymore being with her every day. Han and Leia return to stay with her at the Temple. Jacen and Tenel Ka visit with Allana. Jaina and Jag come home, too, and Ben has children of his own. Mara holds them and remembers, and whispers to them that their grandfather loves them very, very much. Luke's memory is with her whenever her grandchildren climb unto her lap and demand a story and her daughter-in-law admonishes them not to hog the Grand Master and she just laughs and asks them what they want to hear, and they choose the story of the last Jedi who defeated the evil emperor. It makes her heart ache, tremble with pain and loss and _longing;_ and perhaps some of the pain is due to age, as well. But it also is a silent, soft reminder at how sometimes, people do find what they have been looking for their entire lives.

For that, she will forever be eternally, unspeakably grateful.

"Grandma, the ghost man is there, again. He's looking at you."

"Is he, love? Tell him to look at you and your sister, as well, to make sure that you are always safe."

"He says he swears he will, and that you know he always keeps his promises."

 _i promise -_

And that, Mara figures, is enough for her. She may not have had an easy life. But somewhere along the way who she was has stopped defining her; someone has filled her silence and showed her a song and she has never looked back since then. She has done her utmost to pass on his legacy, to live his wishes and his dreams and to protect those he loved. She is pretty sure she has not been able to save everyone and everything; she has made mistakes along the way, has lost people and hopes and dreams. But she has trudged forward, step by step. So - she guesses it is alright if she did not manage to achieve everything he would have achieved. Luke Skywalker always was better at saving people than she was.

 _You did well, Mara._

And maybe she will not ever see him again, will not ever hear his voice again, but - she did her best. She tried. She can live with that.

 _Mara._

He is there, so close, so much like in her memories. She dreams of him every night and though sometimes she cannot remember it, she always knows. Mara Jade Skywalker also knows she is dreaming right now. But his face – she has not seen it this clear since what feels like forever, and everything inside her reaches out for him.

 _Luke. Luke. Stay, my love._

She can almost feel his chuckle, the warmth of his Force presence wrap around her like a beloved, comfortable blanket. He is smiling. She always loved his smile, so warm and familiar, the smile that made his eyes light up. Once upon a time there was a woman that was lost in darkness and despair, and a man who found her and offered her help and trust and loyalty and never once let her deter him from doing the right thing, and the woman could not help but fall in love with him -

 _Mara._

"Please stay," she whispers in her sleep, a tear running down her face. "Luke-"

"Shhh. Mara. Wake up, my love."


End file.
